


Tradition

by tsunderelias (luckystrike)



Category: Noli Me Tangere
Genre: Christmas fic, Elias being a Worrywart, Ibarra having a kink for his own name smdh, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckystrike/pseuds/tsunderelias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elias is confused by European customs.</p><p>Alternatively: Crisostomo seduces him with a bunch of leaves and a random history fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Walt, Vhea, Giel and the rest of my El Noli pals. Happy Holidays <3

"Señor, you should be careful." Elias frowned as he watched Ibarra carefully yet confidently step on a stool in the middle of the room. To Elias' increasing distress, the damn thing _wobbled_ before Ibarra firmly set both of his feet on it. 

 Elias let out a breath of relief.

Ibarra glanced at him before he raised his hands to fiddle with something on the ceiling. "Elias, your concern is touching, but you needn't have worried. I can take care of myself." 

He tittered when he saw Elias' skeptical expression from the corner of his eye, face alight with a boyish smile. "You should stop being a worrywart and let loose for once, my friend. After all, it's Christmas!"

"So I've been told," Elias said drily, though he tried to suppress a smile at Ibarra's youthful enthusiasm. 

Then he caught sight of the precarious stool once more and found that he could not muster a smile if he tried. He stepped a certain distance apart from Ibarra, close enough where he could quickly intervene should anything unfortunate happen, but far enough that Ibarra wouldn't grow suspicious.

For his part, Ibarra hummed absentmindedly, barely glancing at Elias' direction as he was preoccupied doing _something_ to the ceiling. 

Elias couldn't figure out for the life of him what was so important that Ibarra would forsake his own safety. Then again, maybe Elias was just being a "worrywart" ( _what strange words these foreigners come up with_ ) as Ibarra had called him.

On the other hand, maybe Elias had a right to be vigilant; Ibarra seemed to get himself into a lot of trouble.

Elias said, "You know, señor—"

"Ibarra," the man corrected shooting Elias a brief yet meaningful look.

"Señor _Ibarra_ ," Elias said instead, feeling a glimmer of amusement at Ibarra's subsequent pout. "If you need to—" he cast a cursory glance at Ibarra's hands, finally determining what Ibarra was actually _doing_ —"hang something, I would be glad to do it for you. Someone of your stature—"

Ibarra suddenly turned his head, his deadly serious stare boring into Elias' soul. "What about my _stature_ , Elias?"

Elias quickly shook his head, not wanting to offend the lad. "Forgive me, I misspoke. I meant to say that someone of your... noble nature should not have to do such a menial, tedious task."

"Elias, you truly are a good friend. No one, not even my servants, have expressed the same concern that you have. But I must remind you again that I can handle myself perfectly well.

"In fact, I am pleased to inform you that I, a delicate nobleman, have successfully finished this _menial, tedious task_." A proud smile overtook Ibarra's face, Elias' previous transgression now forgotten. Ibarra took his hands away from the ceiling, revealing... a plant.

It was a small sprig barely worth mentioning at all—except Ibarra had gone through all this trouble to attach it to the ceiling; he had made Elias worry over a bunch of _green leaves._

Elias eyed it warily, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming at his temples. "What is it?"

Ibarra beamed, putting his hands on his hips. He had yet to step down from the stool. "Why, my dear Elias, it's a mistletoe!" 

Despite all the stress the man had put him through, Elias couldn't help the warm feeling in his chest that grew when Ibarra called him his 'dear Elias'. _Damn him_. Still, he tried not to let anything show. "Okay."

"Well," Ibarra continued, tone turning thoughtful, "actually, it's just two lazones and some leaves I plucked from the bushes outside, but it should still serve its purpose."

Elias stepped closer to inspect the strange plant as if he could divine its purpose by simply staring at it in the right light. "Okay."

Ibarra gasped when he saw that Elias was in front of him. "Oh, Elias! We're under the mistletoe!" 

Ibarra's slightly scandalized, if pleasantly surprised tone drew Elias' gaze to his face, which was now on the same level as his. Ibarra's brown cheeks were tinged with red from the cold, his eyes were wide, and a small smile crept on his lips.

Elias raised an eyebrow, not understanding what caused the man's reaction. "And?"

Ibarra gave the pretense of a sigh. Whether he was exasperated from Elias' ignorance or his monosyllabic responses, the boatman did not know. "Do you not know of this grand, European tradition, Elias?"

Elias was about to reply that _no, he did not care one whit about what the Europeans did_ when Ibarra suddenly wrapped his arms around Elias' shoulders and drew him closer.

Elias instinctively tensed under his touch. His kept his expression blank, even as Ibarra's voice became low and husky, even as Ibarra's face was so near that Elias could feel his breath on his lips as he spoke.

"Did you know, dear Elias," Ibarra started conversationally, as if he wasn't causing Elias' heart to ram itself repeatedly against his ribs, "that the origins of the mistletoe were birthed from Norse mythology, but the actual tradition of kissing under the mistletoe started in England around the mid century?" 

_Kissing?_

Elias' head spun. He dared not to breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and it was a herculean feat to keep his arms pinned to his sides. It was torture. Ibarra was torturing him. He did not know why or how or why he was even reacting this way, but he was terrified, more than anything, of what he might do if Ibarra didn't stop this madness.

Which seemed unlikely as the man seemed content to stay with him that way until the end of time.

A long, excruciating silence passed.

"Well?" Ibarra asked, his nose lightly brushing against Elias' own. 

Elias closed his eyes and exhaled a slow, shaky breath. "Señor—"

"My name," Ibarra whispered in a fervent tone that made Elias open his eyes. "Call me by my real name."

Elias swallowed a lump in his throat. His mouth felt as dry as the land during the drought. "Ibarra." He stared into the man's hopeful, expectant eyes and found that Ibarra was still waiting for him to say more. 

"Crisostomo," he said it quietly, a little hesitantly, testing out the syllables of Ibarra's first name on his tongue. He had never said called him by that name, feeling it to be too presumptuous of their relationship or even too intimate.

But if Ibarra holding him close wasn't intimate, then Elias didn't know what was.

Ibarra's— _Crisostomo's_ —breath hitched. Elias took a mite of pleasure in knowing that he could affect Ibarra as well.

"Crisostomo," he said louder, braver this time. Elias deliberately drawled out his name, loving the way it sounded, the way Crisostomo's grip on him tightened as he said it.

He was about to say it again when Crisostomo finally, unceremoniously closed the gap between them. His mouth was warm against Elias', softer than he could have ever imagined. Crisostomo kissed in a curiously practiced way, as if he had done this several times before, but Elias had no time to dwell further on that speculation as Crisostomo deepened the kiss, his fingers tugging at Elias' hair. Heat rushed to Elias' cheeks. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin.

Somewhere along the lines, Elias' arms had wrapped themselves around Crisostomo's waist of their own accord, and it seemed that they had no intention of ever letting go. Elias himself had planned on never separating from Crisostomo, but the unfortunate was inevitable.

Crisostomo was the first to pull away, panting slightly. His eyes were lidded, and cheeks were, once again, dusted with that lovely hue of red. Elias' gaze dropped inexorably to his lips, and he was struck with the urge to kiss him again—

Kiss.

The realization was like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on him.

They had just  _kissed_.

And Elias wanted to do it again.

He wanted it like a man in the dessert thirsted for water, like a prisoner on death row wanted freedom.

Instead of leaning forward like he desperately wanted to, Elias disentangled his arms from Crisostomo and stepped back. His mind swam with confusion, and his throat ached for the relief of a cup of lambanog to quell his thirst and sobriety.

He blinked, multiple times, at Crisostomo who owlishly blinked back. 

Elias grasped for words to convey his sentiments, but he couldn't quite parse what those were.

(The words, _I want to kiss you_ , were lodged in his throat like a fishbone; it hurt to keep it in, but he couldn't quite get it out either.)

A painfully long, awkward silence passed.

"I'm going to get us some lambanog," Elias finally said, averting his gaze.  "I'll show you how the Filipino celebrates the holidays."

Crisostomo smiled, though Elias didn't see how the light failed to reach his eyes. "I'd like that, my friend."


End file.
